


Reparations

by AlleiraDayne



Series: Instead of Going to Bed DAI Verse [20]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Cullen, Cullen Fluff, Cullen Rutherford Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fun, POV Cullen Rutherford, Sweet Cullen Rutherford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 19:44:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12019689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: Cullen finally visits his family after the defeat of Corypheus.





	Reparations

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/138010791@N02/37073937125/in/datetaken-public/)

_Cullen,_

_We miss you. Can you spare a few weeks now that the Inquisition has ended and the world still stands? Or is there another threat on our lives that demands your attention, dear brother? Even so, it would be nice to see you one more time before the end. Please send word ahead if you do happen to listen to me for once._

_With Love,_

_Mia_

How many times had his wandering mind conjured the words from memory? The sting of regret, of his sister’s sharp tone recalled with such clarity, it was as if she had spoken them. I _f you do happen to listen to me._

_For once._

It wasn’t as if he had never listened to Mia. After Kinloch, his priorities had shifted, writing letters to his sister falling by the wayside as his responsibilities to the Order blossomed. The same sting of regret returned, tight in his throat and constricting his chest. 

He had failed near everyone in his life. His family, the Order, and Mages had suffered because of him, because of his choices. And though he often recalled his mistakes, of not writing Mia more often, of Kirkwall and the atrocities he could have prevented, it was Mia’s last letter that inspired him to do the right thing.

And without Amallia, without her endless love and support, he may never have decided.

_You’re in a unique position, Cullen. You are poised with such opportunity to right many past wrongs._

Thus, there they were, astride their horses and a mere hour outside of South reach. The Inquisition served as the perfect place and time for reparations with Mages. But he owed them that much at the very least. And while he did it with selfless dedication, it was high time he did something for himself and his family. 

He had sent word ahead as requested, but that raven had left a small village not five days ago. In their haste to leave, Cullen had forgotten to do as his sister requested, and he remembered only because Amallia had asked when Mia was expecting them. 

Drawn from his winding thoughts, Amallia spoke with a sudden concern. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” 

He slowed his horse to ride beside her, confusion knotting his brow. “I haven’t seen my sister in over a decade. I’m quite sure she will be pleased to see me.” 

That did nothing to assuage her frown or angled brow. “I did not need to go with you. This is … a very personal journey for you, I don’t want to be imposing—” 

“Amallia, you’re not imposing,” he interrupted her. “I would not dream of doing this without you. Mia would have my hide if I visited her without you.” 

From concern to surprise in the blink of an eye, Amallia gaped, slack-jawed. “You told her? About … me?” 

“Of course I did,” he replied with a quick smile. “At the time, I had nobody in which I could confide. And we … it was shortly after we found Skyhold that I mentioned you, although it was brief. But nothing gets passed Mia.” 

“Maker’s breath, Cullen, what did you write about?” she asked, cheeks pink with embarrassment. 

An unbidden laugh bubbled up from his chest. “Nothing. I merely mentioned your name.” 

“So she knows I’m nobility, then? That’s it?” she asked. 

Cullen shook his head, grinning ear to ear. “Not at all. I merely used your first name when I referred to you. Once.” 

Confusion replaced her concern. “What does that mean to her?” 

“I doubt I have ever referred to my superiors by their first names in any letter I’ve written to Mia,” he explained. 

“But I’m not …” she paused, thought slowing as she palmed her forehead. “Andraste preserve me, I am your superior.” 

“I’m not complaining,” he began with another laugh. “Your titles never intimidated me.” 

For a moment, Amallia fell silent, but Cullen swore that if he listened close enough, he could hear the gears of her mind churning. It was several minutes later when she spoke again. 

“How long?” 

“What?” he asked, unsure of what she spoke. 

“How long were you … did you think about …” she stuttered. 

The thrum of his heart against his ribs skipped a beat as his cheeks stung with the color of embarrassment. “To be honest,” he muttered, “I couldn’t take my eyes off you. But we’d only just met. You stood directly across from me at the war table in Haven,” he continued. “You shook my hand. You knew I was a Templar and yet you grasped my hand as though we were equals.” 

“Because we are, Cullen. Even then, I knew that,” she explained, but a coy smirk crooked her lips. “Did you just admit to being attracted to me the second we first met?” 

“I did,” he replied. 

“Was it my impressive handshake? Must have been a good handshake if you remembered it,” she jested. 

Lingering in that memory, Cullen drifted, remembering every detail as though it had happened only yesterday. Through the war room door Amallia burst, crossing the threshold and taking up her central position at the table without hesitation. And once introduced to everyone, her brilliant blue stare had remained locked on his, an easy smile on her lips. 

“You looked me in the eye when no other Mage would.” 

She shrugged, seeming indifferent. “I didn’t really know much about you besides what Cassandra had told me on the way back to the temple. I admit, I did not know much about your past. Given my admittedly good history with wonderful Templars, I assumed you were no different from them.” 

A brief grip of terror seized him by the throat, Kinloch’s chaos flashing before his mind’s eye. “And when I told you what happened? What I’d done?” 

“What an abused, tortured, lyrium-addicted fresh twenty-year-old had done?” she asked with a wry smile. “Obviously, it was nothing to be thrilled about. But I wasn’t going to let that cloud my impression of you. To what end? You’ve suffered enough. Quitting lyrium alone could mean your death.” 

“But did you think less of me?” he asked. 

She thought a moment, lips pursed and nose scrunched. “Maybe for a short time, but the more I learned about you, the more I understood you’re not the same person a decade later.” 

Their winding path rounded a stout hill, Amallia’s attention snapping to the house in the distance. For as far as the eye could see, rolling fields of wheat swayed in the breeze, golden waves undulating in the brilliant afternoon sun. 

“Maker’s breath, this is Mia’s home?” she asked. “They’re farmers?” 

“Like our parents were, yes,” Cullen replied as he spurred his horse to a trot. “And last Mia said, Bran and Ros were here, too, helping. Too much for Mia and Richard and their little boy.” 

Silence fell between them then, broken only by their horse’s clapping hooves as Amallia caught up to him. He expected more questions, an expression of nerves or, at the very least, a small concern with their sudden decision to visit his family. No, instead, her bright smile was a tight-lipped frown, eyes staring blank at the pommel of her saddle. 

Not a hundred meters ahead, the door to the cabin swung wide to reveal a tall, blonde figure Cullen identified as Mia. A pale blue work blouse and yellow riding pants rippled in sharp gusts of wind as she shielded her eyes, squinting. And then her jaw dropped. Sprinting back into the house, she left the door gaping, her voice a distant shout over the horses’ hooves. 

Rosalie was first, darting over the threshold and running faster than the wind to meet them. He reigned in his horse when Branson appeared, racing to catch their little sister. With only a second to spare, Cullen dismounted and caught Rosalie as she flew into his arms. 

Cinnamon and nutmeg filled his nose, accompanied not a second later by wood fire and leather and horse. Branson enveloped them both in his massive arms, and not long behind was the lilac and wheat of Mia. Time ceased to exist in their embrace, slowing, stalling for them, the road-weary and ever-fretful, and in that eternal moment, Cullen surrendered to his overwhelming relief and wept. 

“Maker’s breath, Cullen, I can’t believe it’s you, it is  _really you_ ,” Mia sobbed as she held his face, Rosalie and Branson making room for their sister. 

“Did you not get my bird?” he asked. “I sent a raven ahead just outside of old Lothering.” 

She gasped, fingers over her open mouth and shaking her head. “No, the last I’d heard from you was in the Arbor Wilds,” she explained as she wiped away the tears streaming over her cheeks. “No matter, we’ve a spare bed and plenty of food, I’m just so glad you’re in one piece,  _Andraste’s flaming kni-_ ” 

Rosalie jerked Mia aside by the wrist, jaw slack and wide eyes staring past Cullen. Mia’s face soon matched their little sister’s, awestruck, but by what Cullen was unsure. Wheeling about, he turned to find Amallia standing beside her horse, petting his nose and none the wiser to her audience. 

“Cullen Staton Rutherford, where are your manners?!” Mia hissed as she backhanded his shoulder. “Introduce us!” 

As if summoned, Amallia parted from her horse with a final scratch between the ears and greeted him with her tender smile, the one she seemed to reserve for him. Hooking a lock of purple hair behind her ear, a sense of unease crawled up his spine, tainting the unyielding joy he had known not a minute earlier. At her side, he took her hand in his, the pulse at her wrist racing beneath his fingertips, and Cullen understood. 

“Nervous?” 

She chewed her bottom lip as her weight shifted from one foot to the other. “A little.” 

“I’m sorry,” he started. “They’re … an intimidating bunch, I know,” he added with a cursory glance over his shoulder. “But they’ll love you, I have no doubt in my mind. Ready?” 

In a single clarifying breath, any trace of her nerves disappeared, sloughed away by the resolve in her straight spine and squared shoulders. With a curt nod, they returned to his family, side by side and hand in hand. 

Rosalie all but swooned, leaning on Mia and smiling as though she were some moonstruck girl. Branson, try as he might to hide it, gaped like a fish out of water, eyes bulging in their sockets. And for whatever ridiculous reason,  _that_ , more than anything, filled Cullen with such pride, he thought his heart might burst from his chest. 

“Mia,” he breathed in elation. “Bran, Ros,” he continued, looking to each in turn. “I’d like you all to meet Amallia Trevelyan.” 

Rosalie shrieked, hands flying into the air above her head as she skipped to his side. “Andraste’s tits, Cullen, the Inquisitor?!” she shouted with a smile so wide, he feared it may be permanent. 

Oh, no. Maker save him, but this was too perfect. “Mia?” he interrogated, drawing out her name. “Did you not share our letters with our siblings?” he asked. 

Pink in the cheeks, Mia scowled a glare at Rosalie as she pointed. “They read the letters!” she admonished. “It’s not my job to decipher them, you clodpoll!” 

Beside him, Amallia barked a laugh louder than any of them, silenced by her hand clamping over her mouth. Shaking with laughter, she doubled over, one hand on her knees while the other attempted to contain herself in vain. 

“Maker’s breath, Cullen, you’re …” Branson started, stuttering. “How? You’re … Void take me, but you’re  _terrible_  with women, how did you convince the damned Inquisitor?!” 

With a readied retort, Cullen opened his mouth, but Amallia’s appalled gasp of feigned disgust stopped him. Thank the Maker for her quick wit, sharp tongue, and indomitable dignity. “How do you know it wasn’t I that convinced him?” 

Branson’s guffaw paled in comparison to the shocked faces of his sisters. “You’re joking, right? You pursued my brother?” 

“Aw, how cute,” Amallia cooed. “Your brother is adorable, Cullen,” she continued as she slipped beneath his arm, a gentle hand smoothing over his chest. “Don’t worry, Bran. You’ll learn what it’s like to be pursued one day.” 

Cackling laughter rent the air as Mia and Rosalie collapsed on one another, gasping for breath and tears streaming down their cheeks. Though he tried, Cullen struggled to recall the last time he had seen his sisters in stitches, double over and breathless as he or Branson made complete fools of themselves. 

“And you were nervous?” Cullen asked through his own laughter. 

“I was. I tend to get a little aggressive with my teasing,” she commented as she regarded Branson. “I should apologize.” 

“Heavens, no,” Mia begged as her laughter faded and she wrapped Amallia in her enveloping hug. “How does a hot bath sound? You must be exhausted …” she asked as she lead Amallia to the house, Rosalie following at her side, and their voices faded, drowned out by the swirling wind. 

“Do you think … is she …” Branson stuttered, words failing him. 

“You may want to brush up on your insults, dear brother,” Cullen jested as he gathered the reigns of their horses and started for the stables. 

“What for?” Branson asked as he followed. 

An unbidden grin spread across Cullen’s lips as he watched Mia, Rosalie, and Amallia enter the house. Before closing the door, Amallia leaned over the threshold to wave at him wither own sparkling smile.  

“By the looks of things, Mal’s going to be around for a good long while.”


End file.
